


Slash and burn, return, listen to yourself churn.

by MFLuder



Category: Heroes (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Apocalypse, Crossover, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Incest, M/M, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, Petrellicest, implied wincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-11-01 16:16:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17870534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MFLuder/pseuds/MFLuder
Summary: "I never imagined it'd end like this. I always thought it'd be some demon show-down. Some kind of final war between good and evil."





	Slash and burn, return, listen to yourself churn.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted January 12, 2007, at [my DW](https://mf-luder-xf.dreamwidth.org/82681.html). Title from an REM song.

The snow falls in whispers. The ground is covered in a blanket of too pretty, innocent-seeming, white dust. If it weren't for the pressing cold and bitter sharp smell, it would almost seem like ash. Maybe it is. Ashes from the heavens.

_It's the end of the world as we know it..._

Dean huffs a laugh. It's fitting that at such a time he'd end up with one of Sam's emo angsty songs stuck in his head, rather than some decent Metallica.

Warm arms snake about his middle. "What?" the quiet voice asks.

"I was just...remembering."

Peter kisses his neck, a gesture of comfort and nothing more.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

Dean continues to stare out the window as he slowly nods. "Who knew it would be so peaceful?" He pauses. "I never imagined it'd end like this. I always thought it'd be some demon show-down. Some kind of final war between good and evil."

It's Peter's turn to nod, long bangs brushing against Dean's cheek. "And I always thought it would be because of me. But then, neither of us is Nostradamus."

Dean chuckles again; it's a quiet, comfortable laugh. A little resigned. "Even he didn't imagine this."

~~~

It's been two days since the snow began to fall and they haven't left the motel room. They stocked up on food beforehand, knowing it—knowing _something_ —was coming. After all, wasn't that what their brothers died for? The time in the room doesn't matter; there's no one left to collect rent.

The room smells like crackers and the scent of tin from soda cans. It smells of sex and feels clammy. They haven't dared open the door. Not while the skies are still dumping down destruction.

They're back at it again. Not like there's anything else to do. No television, no radios. Dean thinks the internet might still exist. But the laptop died only a day after Sam.

Maybe, maybe it's a little morbid that they're fucking as Death comes down in giant flakes across the earth.

_When the fall is all that's left...it matters a great deal._

Dean remembers that as a quote from some movie Sam made him watch years ago. But since Sam's gone, Dean's got a new set of priorities for the end. Fucking is definitely one of them.

Dean's spread out on the bed like some fifty-dollar whore, but it doesn't bother him that much because it's what he feels like. What he _wants_ to feel like. When you're fucked open and reeking of sex and come and sticky with lube, it's easy to forget you could die any day. Or that you could live beyond the end.

Sometimes...it feels like the end has already come and gone.

They do it this way, with Dean on bottom and Peter on top because the first time they tried it their preferred ways, Dean cried out for Sam and Peter moaned for Nathan. 

Dean was master of awkward moments; he's had enough. Bad dates, back alley fucks, watching Sam grow up into a giant mass of sex-ass. But even he hadn't been able to get over that one.

So Peter tops and Dean begs and it's nothing like what they used to do or what they're used to and that's the point. They don't fit, not really. But it doesn't bother either of them because god it feels good.

Dean's on his knees, face shoved into the bedspread already stained with them from the past ten times in the past two days. He breathes it like an aphrodisiac and grunts out _harder_. Peter obeys, willing to let Dean boss him around even if he is the one with the dick shoved up his ass. Dean pushes back, relishes the small burn of pain that still exists. It makes him feel more alive. Makes him feel like he hasn't already gone to his cold grave, buried in inches of white powder and this isn't his own custom made Purgatory.

Peter fills him up, runs one hand over his back whispering _I love this dip it arcs so beautifully you're so pretty come for me, Dean_ while the other fondles balls and dick alike, not quite the right pressure, not quite there yet.

Peter pulls out and bends down to taste and lick at Dean, hands spreading cheeks wide, tongue delving deep. Dean can't imagine how that must taste but Peter isn't complaining and it feels damn good so he just pushes back for more, finally getting out, _fuck me now_. His brother's antithesis _thesis_ does as commanded and after a few thrusts and a few jerks, they're both coming. Never in time nor tune, but it still feels okay, feels right, like it's something they both deserve after losing their better halves. Dean can feel the warm liquid filling his body and he pants as his body sags back to the bed, Peter crashing down on top, neither willing to move away from the warmth or companionship.

He's still horny, maybe there is something in the snow, but too tired to do anything about it and it doesn't matter what his body or mind thinks anyway, he couldn't get it up. Peter rolls off momentarily and they drag the covers over them, Peter at Dean's back, exactly opposite still, and they look out into the night. Somehow, they know its night, despite snow halfway up the window now and only a gray sky.

Maybe it's the clock telling them it's night. Or maybe, the heavy feeling in their hearts.

~~~

Sometimes, Dean wishes they would just end. He doesn't know why they're still alive. Or at least not why he's alive. He's nothing special. Wasn't ever much without Sam, and nothing compared to Peter's powers. It doesn't make sense. It hurts. Hurts to be left behind where all he has is sex and a food shortage.

Thing is, he hasn't felt hungry. Not for the past two days. Neither of them has needed to eat anything beyond the smallest rations. And they're not weak or skinny for it. It looks like he can't even look forward to an eventual death of hunger. Just the hunger in his soul. That empty hole that gapes for Sam.

He knows it echoes the hole in Peter's own.

Nathan's powers couldn't save him. Sam's skills couldn't save _him_. So now it's just Dean and Peter. Two halves from broken wholes, trying to find solace with each other. It seems fitting.

It's been ten days now. Dean wonders if anyone like Peter is left. Wonders if this rain of ice will ever end. Wonders if anyone normal like him is still alive. He doubts it.

Maybe this is the end. To just watch the snow come down, sheltered in a motel room. Nothing to keep him company except Peter and his thoughts that run in circles of how two sets of brothers are so alike, and so different.

Sam and Peter, both emo. Nathan and Dean, both tough protectors. Sam and Peter the babies. Dean and Nathan the unemotional ones. Sam and Peter with the long hair, both so soft and baby fine.

But Dean and Peter both ones willing to accept their destiny while Sam and Nathan fought tooth and nail. In the end, Dean can't help but wonder if that's what killed them.

How ironic that he and Sam would find another set of brothers just like them. Brother fucking wasn't a common thing, Dean was sure. But they fit. The two sets, the four of them together. They'd done what they could and had worked well together. Freaks with freaks.

If that's what it took to try to save the world...Dean could deal with that. He just wished something had helped.

"Dean?" he hears.

"Hmmm?" He hasn't used his voice much, not for anything but screams of pleasure. Silent screams of pain.

"Do you want—?" Peter's voice is broken, soft. Its sound flows over Dean like honey. He thinks he feels himself get a little stronger; a little braver. "I know you're thinking about it, Dean. Do you hear him calling you?"

For a moment, Dean's not sure what Peter's talking about. But when he turns from the window, he sees a sparkle in his friend's eyes that he hasn't seen since Nathan died. Then he knows.

"Yeah," he whispers, "I do."

"We can try, then. Maybe it won't work. Maybe it'll stop. Maybe...maybe we'll find _them_."

Dean nods. He doesn't bother to put a shirt on. Doesn't feel the need to shower spunk and sweat off. He's going to his death, or he's just going to feel dumb. Either way, Sam won't mind if he comes to him dirty. He'll understand. He always has. 

Peter stands, putting on a sweatshirt. That's Peter, just like Sam with the layers. One of a million ways they're the same. But Sam did it because he got cold. Because he learned it at college. Dean thinks Peter's ashamed. Nathan will understand, though. He and Sam are more alike than Peter thinks.

"I love you," Peter says, wrapping an arm about Dean's naked waist.

Dean just leans down, brushing a lock of black hair away from the beautiful face. He lets his fingers trace softly over eyelids, nose, cheeks, lips. He lays his lips over Peter's and they share a warm, nearly chaste kiss.

The snow is still flurrying about, making little swirls in the air. Silence descends as they turn. 

Together, they open the door.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow and chat with me [on tumblr](http://mf-luder-xf.tumblr.com)!


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